Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right in front of me.
“Anya.”
I blinked, startled, and looked up to see Semyon standing there. He held a simple white bakery box in one hand and a package wrapped in shiny paper in the other.
He looked so out of place against the peeling paint and cracked pavement of my world. Even dressed casually—a plain black T-shirt that hugged his lean, muscular frame and dark jeans—he radiated a presence that made me feel small and unsteady. He wasn’t like the boys in my class, the ones who stumbled over their words, made fun of me, or teased me about my boobs. No.
Semyon was a man.
Twenty-two to my eighteen. But it wasn’t just his age. He’d been a man for a long time now.
There were rumors about him—how he killed for the Bratva when he was only sixteen, how he was feared on the streets of the city. So feared.
But not by me. I didn’t fear him. I still saw the little boy who taught me how to skip rocks by the creek. The cold Bratva enforcer was just a role he played, not who he really was.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
“Semyon,” I said softly, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. I hoped he couldn’t tell I’d been crying.
“Hey.” He set the bakery box and wrapped package down on the stoop beside me. My heart began to beat faster.
He couldn’t be here for… Did he know?
“Zoya said it was your birthday,” he said simply, lowering himself to sit beside me.
He leaned back with his legs stretched out. His tattoos were visible beneath the sleeves of his shirt—dark ink, intricate patterns swirling across his forearms. I suddenly felt self-conscious.
Too young.
“I didn’t think anyone knew,” I said.
“She pays attention to those things,” he said, his tone neutral.
“Um, what’s in the box?” I asked, quickly deflecting the conversation.
“A cake,” he said as if it were obvious. “Chocolate.”
My heart squeezed. “Did Zoya tell you I liked chocolate too?” I teased, biting my lip as heat flushed my cheeks.
His lips twitched. “No. Everybody knows you love chocolate.”
Not everybody. My dad wouldn’t. I wasn’t even sure Eli would. My mother might’ve known, but only on a good day.
But Semyon? Semyon knew.
He flipped open the lid of the box, revealing a plain chocolate cake with messy icing swirls. There were no candles or decorations—just the word Anya scrawled across the top in crooked white letters.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he said with a shrug.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed out, my throat tightening. I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay. “You didn’t have to do this.”
He turned to me then, his piercing blue eyes softening. “Of course I did. You’re my friend.”
Friend. The word hit me like a sledgehammer.
I didn’t want to be his friend. I wanted to be something more. But I was just the little sister of his best friend.
He set the wrapped package beside me. “Open it.”
I slid a finger under the paper, carefully peeling it away. Inside was a chessboard—not a cheap one from the corner store, but a beautiful, polished set with intricately carved pieces.
“It’s gorgeous,” I whispered, swiping at my eyes quickly so he wouldn’t see.
“You play?” he asked, his voice casual, though I could tell he already knew the answer.
“A little,” I admitted.
“Good,” he said, setting up the pieces right there on the stoop. “Because I’m not going easy on you.”
“Maybe I’m better than you think,” I shot back, teasing.
He glanced at me, his gaze soft. “Maybe you are, Anya.”
We played for hours, taking bites of the cake straight out of the box as we moved pieces back and forth across the board. I lost every game, but I didn’t care. He didn’t talk much, but he didn’t have to. Just having him there, spending time with me, paying attention… It was enough.
When the air grew cold, he finally stood, folding the wrapping paper into meticulous little squares. “I have to get home,” he said. “Rafail expected me an hour ago.”
“Hope you’re not in trouble,” I said with a small smile.
He huffed a laugh. “I’m definitely in trouble. But it was worth it.”
For a moment, he stood there, his gaze unreadable. My heart pounded, my breath caught in my throat. Was he going to…kiss me?
I told myself no, of course not. I was just a girl to him.
But then his fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my chin up ever so slightly. My breath caught. His ice-blue eyes searched mine, hesitation flickering in their depths. And then, before I could second-guess it—before my mind could get ahead of my body—he kissed me.
It was brief, more than a question than an answer. His lips barely pressed against mine, lingering for just a heartbeat before he pulled away. His voice was rough when he spoke.